dash of language The rabbit given to Alice on her 18th birthday Gnaws the church candle *** the heaven of the taste of hate steorite ¤ dead sun wrinkle colors ^ the hunger of nailed hands ● candied birds overhead trees ○ toy soldiers in front of the black abyss ~ hatred will rise into the air and burst so that everything around turns red □ for all these years of life сhildren and adults died with special cruelty inside us *** breathe out and don't breathe in I love you so much that the flower withers in the sun let my head be cut off by the train at full speed and the wind will bring my breath to you now breathe calmly measured who made you up? who made you? what is the Lord silent about with the rustle of leaves? the crunch of leaves and bones under our feet? our footprints with you in the sand high tide *** Less than humans A man without a spine Performs bending Outside Clean Nameless Like snow on the edge of sleep Who will touch her curve Who will de-energize her vagina Who will touch her soul Do it in the dark Do it against the darkness Do it against the darkness Squeeze all the light from the heart Clenched fingers gnaw warmly Eyes shine, silence swallows semen Moans of pleasure chase the siren *** to stand in eternal glory flip through the prism of time to gnaw its granite with its own life expect a grant from heaven hope to become angels after death hope to become clean and naked again *** Art is a crime, says death, with eye sockets wrapped around the fluttering eyelashes of crumpled corpse grass. Art is theft. The tub of night, wrapped in a kiss of indescribable sadness, without words or dreams, cracked and the closed eyes of people ready for the cemetery poured out of it. Everything was already in the world, so everything new is stolen. All silence. Everything is a mouse. The gnawed border of feelings from which there is nowhere to escape. The ghetto of people painted with the red paint of spilled blood. Take us death to a magical paradise by the nooks and crannies and at least to hell anywhere, somewhere where weapons have not been invented. *** He said let's do it in missionary position Then it became quiet A black hair fell on the snow-white sheet *** Marauders of the sex shop when the owners left The child got lost in the shopping center A newly born orphan begs for alms *** smoke is seen outside the city autumn mist is missing life floats away *** sarabande in the ears when we were born music became our homeland all our lives we fight with silence our whole life is a war with silence *** the hole in my body is growing rubbish is pouring out of the hole sand and thoughts I draw a sculpture with my body I draw а human with my body *** I was invited to think madmen the nightingale gives a night gala concert there is a war for time it's time for war soft people with cruel humanity my lips drink juice from the frozen ice of tears I am madness frenzy insanity folly lunacy my voice means death on the eve of the last endless war *** children sing earthly songs doves are silent in the sky аnd which one of them invented the nuclear mushroom? *** to burn in fire while alive - not a single european Dante dreamed of such a thing our moral window is shattered by the sound of rustling red flags our eyes shine and lips sing a universal song all people are really birds all people are really trees all people are really ordinary people world of non-existent balance world of non-essential balance approbation of guilt that was forcibly squeezed into the heads black people with a white (empty) conscience enter our temple and kill us sorry *** souls huddle with each other in a cauldron of justice what kind of ghetto are they trying to drive us into once again? who is trying to play cat and mouse with us? who is trying to play billiards with our bodies and souls? don't let the wolves be hungry don't let the wolves get fed don't let people turn into wolves no animal is harmed not a single hair will fall from your head we won't let our humanity be destroyed we won't let humanity be destroyed so be it *** diplomacy diplomac diploma diplom diplo dipl dip di d dead and war
Category Archives: CHAOS
Essay from Bakhora Bakhtiyorova
MOTHER Have you ever been in debt beyond your ability to pay? That's what I owed to my MOM!!! First I took a life, then I got endless love, I got youth, health, a beautiful figure, and beauty... How about a replacement??? Instead, I got on his nerves by being manly and capricious. And then I got all my black hair by talking about my ridiculous problems, pains, and expenses... In exchange for all that I got, my mother asked God in every prayer for me to laugh, not to feel pain, to be happy, not for herself... My mother, what a miracle you are. We were happy for each age, not because you are getting older, but because my child is getting older. The only thing worth saying for what we have received from you is our love, we loved you very much. We can't pretend it's youth or stubbornness, but we love you so much, mom! I asked God to stay with me all my life, bless us and make our lives beautiful. Today I praise God for creating me as your child, for giving me a mother like you... I'm fine... I'm fine Without MOTHER Author Bakhora Bakhtiyorova Asliddin Daughter
Poetry from Eva Petropoulou Lianou
Αbout poetry Poetry Is a very demanding woman She knows how powerful are the words They can win a war The right verses must be used Poetry Needs loyal men Needs time And caring As you take a white paper And you give your self Creating sentences With your heart A woman need so Much caring As the poem Is ready To come out of your Stomach Or your heart Feelings Never spoken Feelings never shared A woman was never loved... Poetry It is the way We see love Ourselves Be loved Wishes to become true Poetry Is our freedom..... ... We have asked not to be forgotten.... But we forget to live We forget to love We forget to say hello and thank you to people they were there for us!! We asked to be patient We have asked to be kind But they never teach us about the selfish person The evil people They snakes they are among us That are waiting for our moments The small moments To come And destroy We have asked to believe in ourselves We have asked to be positive But they never explained that We will be the only that we must do that As people are occupied with make war Make money Have power I do what they asked but i walk forgotten.... In the battle field...
Poetry from Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa
Lost Eagle An eagle wants to soar the sky Yet overwhelmed by the vastness high Desire to be out of cage so free Need to be warm and safe in a nest be An eagle warmed by the golden sun Yet rash and burns never been fun Cravings for the sweetness of nectar Detest the addiction with no holds bar An eagle flying for desired goal Yet struggle with currents running afoul Fight routes twisting gone hayway Lost in heaven's blind maze way An eagle no different from the eaglet An egg lain for business not nature set Searching beyond reason's mystery Yet know its wings has no sanctuary An eagle forever wishing the sky Yet caged in anchored from flying high Desire surgeing wanting to be free Quite contrarily needing the security in a nest be Silent Lamb Scorching wind lashed on the tattered skin Not to cool but burn right down one's shin Breeze unwelcomed, fiery ember's kin On opened wound, awashed in biting hot gin Light bouncing off a discarded serrated tin Lazer torch slicing a rotten fleshy bin Pricking a human bag thousands of a pin Memories battled, all virtues and one great sin Heavy log burdened a bloody shoulder Naked heels on sharp path of crushed boulder Passage unyielding, shaky feet flounder Entertainment, for bloodlust to plunder Sweat and blood to cool a disfigured face Spittle and slaps, adornment of disgrace Time and Death impatient in the race Such a slow, grueling journey pace So far and yet so near, the goal of a hill A place where justice is vexed nil Iron nails hammered flesh holes to drill Sturdy post raised up, viewers had their fill Thunder sounds the sky did rend Shakes and quakes through the ground earth send Angry insults and curses haters tend Yet the slaughtered lamb remained silent... Lilian Dipasupil Kunimasa was born January 14, 1965, in Manila Philippines. She has worked as a retired Language Instructor, interpreter, caregiver, secretary, product promotion employee, and private therapeutic masseur. Her works have been published as poems and short story anthologies in several language translations for e-magazines, monthly magazines, and books; poems for cause anthologies in a Zimbabwean newspaper; a feature article in a Philippine newspaper; and had her works posted on different poetry web and blog sites. She has been writing poems since childhood but started on Facebook only in 2014. For her, Poetry is life and life is poetry. Lilian Kunimasa considers herself a student/teacher with the duty to learn, inspire, guide, and motivate others to contribute to changing what is seen as normal into a better world than when she steps into it. She has always considered life as an endless journey, searching for new goals, and challenges and how she can in small ways make a difference in every path she takes. She sees humanity as one family where each one must support the other and considers poets as a voice for truth in pursuit of equality and proper stewardship of nature despite the hindrances of distorted information and traditions.
Poetry from Christopher Bernard
Trump in Chains It is well posed, one must give the devil credit: defiance shouts, frozen in fury, at the top of grievance, as petulant as it is silent; the furious eye, triumphant in mockery, disdains the camera and, through its harsh lens, you. But there is no gratification. A dull ache, sequela from a blow, taken long ago, swells in the soul of even the most opposed when faced with this humiliation. No: no gratification, only sorrow at this portrait of the folly of mankind at war with itself, nature, and the gods, taken in the bowels of a southern jail. There, but for the grace of the devil, go I. Christopher Bernard's collection The Socialist's Garden of Verses won a PEN Oakland Josephine Miles Award and was named one of the "Top 100 Indie Books of 2021" by Kirkus Reviews. His two books "for children and their adults," If You Ride a Crooked Trolley . . . and The Judgment of Biestia, the first in the series Otherwise - will be published in November 2023.
Poetry from Taylor Dibbert
Sole Custody
It’s one of
The best ideas
That he’s had
In quite
Some time,
Making sure
He keeps
The dog,
Writing that
Into the
Divorce agreement.
Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. He’s author of the Peace Corps memoir “Fiesta of Sunset,” and his debut poetry collection is due out later this year.
Poetry from Dr. Shailesh Gupta Veer
Desire ------------------- She is in my heart, and my heart is in her fist, I want to hold her hand forever! □ Tide of Sensations ------------------- Heart is broken Like a glass bowl, The tide of sensations is making an uproar! □ Rather ------------------- Neither need to be excited Nor to be overjoyed It's not the ending rather the autumn. Let the new leaves come! □ To Ease the Pain ------------------- Mind is restless, stream of ideas is endless, in an attempt to ease the pain, I have befriended nature! □ Connection ------------------- In each and every particle of the macrocosm, You have dissolved as sandalwood! The magical connection of two souls is peerless!! □ Brief Biography: Dr. Shailesh Gupta Veer --------------------------------- Dr. Shailesh Gupta Veer is a poet, critic, reviewer, editor and multi-prize winner. He is bilingual and writes in English & Hindi. His literary works are characterized by a high degree of creativity and authenticity. He has edited about two dozen literary books and several magazines. His poetry has been published in various literary national and international magazines, journals, anthologies and websites. He has won many awards in the field of poetry and literature. His poems have been translated into Chinese, Greek, German, French, Spanish, Azerbaijani, Arabic, Italian, Serbian, Croatian, Portuguese, Nepali, Punjabi & some other languages. He is the editor of Micropoetry Cosmos and the associate editor of The Voice of Creative Research. He was declared a Literary Icon in December 2018 by the TV program 'You and Literature Today' from Nigeria. His poems were read on The Dear John Show of Warrington, England. He is an inspiration for budding poets. He is a Ph.D. in Archaeology and is currently working as a Government Teacher. - Dr. Shailesh Gupta Veer Fatehpur, Uttar Pradesh, India Email: veershailesh@gmail.com